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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111929">We Need A Bit More Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theandrogynousdragon/pseuds/theandrogynousdragon'>theandrogynousdragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Bars and Pubs, Bisexual Merlin (Merlin), Blood and Gore, Dark Magic, Depressed Merlin (Merlin), Don't smoke kids, Dragonlord Merlin (Merlin), Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Good Mordred (Merlin), Good Morgana (Merlin), Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Kid Mordred (Merlin), Long-Term Relationship(s), Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mental Instability, Merlin Has PTSD, Merlin adopts a bunch of kids, Merlin has memory issues, Merlin is a bit of an eldritch creature, Multi, Patricide, Polyamory, Protective Merlin (Merlin), Reincarnation, Threesome - F/M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, but ya kid got their meds so woot!, dragons purr like giant kitties because i say so, fingers crossed guys, gonna shoot for once a week updates, good Morgause, i WILL update this regularly i promise, i wrote some of this while high so fair warning lol, if depression doesn't kick my ass, not Merlin though don't worry, tags added for chapter three specifically, we shall see, why is that not a tag, you cannot convince me they don't purr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:00:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theandrogynousdragon/pseuds/theandrogynousdragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen hundred years is a very long time to be alive. </p><p>They come back, but Merlin takes a while to remember them. </p><p>Merlin also adopts a few children that may or may not be reincarnated Camelot citizens.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daegal/Mordred (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Merlin (Merlin), Isolde/Tristan (Merlin), Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin), Morgana/Vivian (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Familiar Faces</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Merlin adopts a child. No it's not kidnapping, really.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mentions of verbal abuse and implied neglect. Also sorry the first chapter is so short.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<hr/><p>Working the door at a pub wasn’t the best option, really, but it paid alright. And Merlin’d been a fighter long enough to know how to knock someone out without magic. Mostly he just stood there and checked IDs, though. </p><p>A very short person tried to push past him. Merlin grabbed the kid’s coat and hoisted them up to eye level. “Hi. I’m not even going to card you, what are you, eight?” </p><p>The child pouted. “I’m ten! And I’m looking for my dad, actually.” </p><p>Merlin sighed and let the kid go. “A’right. But I’m going with you, okay?” He waved Ted over, “hey, would you mind watching the door for a bit? Gonna help this kid find his dad.” He took the kid’s hand to make sure they wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. “What’s your name, by the way? I’m Nate.” </p><p>“I’m George! D’you wanna hear a joke?” <em>Heard that one before,</em> something whispered. “Why did brass and steel team up?” </p><p>“I dunno, why?” An echo drawled, <em>the man makes jokes about… </em></p><p>George grinned, brown hair flopping into his eyes. “Because they were alloys!” <em>…brass.</em> A headache pulsed behind Merlin’s eyes. Who was… Who had said… The loss hurt, just a little. And then it was pushed away and the hurt was gone. </p><p>“So do you see your dad anywhere, George?”</p><hr/><p>Later, after they couldn’t find George’s dad and Merlin had decided to just take the kid home with him (George didn’t remember his dad’s mobile number) for the night, they were sitting in Merlin’s kitchen eating sandwiches. And it felt so familiar, like he’d done this with this kid before, or something like it anyway. But that was ridiculous. <em>Guess I just have one of those faces, eh, Merlin? </em></p><p>George picked at his sandwich, glancing up at him. “Do you have a mum and dad?” </p><p>“Not anymore.” </p><p>“What were they like?” </p><p>Merlin froze. His father had been… his father… not a demon, he knew that. (But how could he be sure?) <em>Magic corrupts even the best of men, you know this.</em> And his mother was… was… <em>the smell of dark earth and ripe grain always felt like coming home.</em> Why did none of the stories mention her name? He couldn’t… it was… “I don’t remember,” he rasped, feeling sick at the thought. (It had been so long since someone had asked him about his parents.) What kind of son was he, to forget his family so completely? <em>I only met him briefly before he died.</em> He knew he’d said that to someone once, but the details were blurred. </p><p>“You’re lucky,” George mumbled, scowling and stabbing a hole in his ham-and-cheese with his finger. </p><p>“Wha- what?” </p><p>“Mine hate me. They said so.”</p><p>“Your parents told you they hate you?” </p><p>“Mum said she wished I wasn’t born and Dad said I was stupid.” </p><p>…Kidnapping was still illegal, right? Wait, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. “Describe it for me?” A little look with his magic wouldn’t hurt. Just to get the facts. </p><p>“Yeah, it was on Tuesday, and I was just…” George’s words faded as Merlin used his magic to see the memory from the kid’s perspective, as it’d happened. He had more than enough evidence to be calling Child Services in the first few seconds. The rest was just the rotten cherry on the slag heap sundae. Wonderful. </p><p>“They sound terrible, wow.” It’d been awhile since he’d had kids… “D’you want to stay with me?” </p><p>“Really?” George’s eyes got huge and a grin near split his little face in half. </p><p>“Absolutely, sprog.” </p><p>“Yes! Yes yes yes! Thank you so much Mr. Nate!” Some more magic to make sure the parents didn't call the police. (He doubted they would, but it wouldn't hurt to make certain.) </p><hr/><p>Something in Merlin’s chest settled. A gravelly voice mused, <em>all dragons have hoards, young warlock. Just because you are dragon in heart only does not mean you are exempt from that. </em></p><p>George ran around the table to hug him and Merlin just barely stopped himself from purring like the world’s largest cat <strike>smallest dragon</strike>. </p><p>
  <em> What’s my hoard, then?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> People, young warlock. Your hoard is people…  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Merlin ruffled George’s hair, laughing. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> …and in this way fate has damned you, I’m afraid.  </em>
</p><hr/>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Echoes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Children and their parents. Side of baby disaster gays being Disaster Gays</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Time skip of a few months. Also I don't know very much about UK school systems, forgive my American-ness lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><hr/><p>Someone laughed, loud and bright, and Helen Greer turned. She knew that laugh. <em>Her boy had not been eight-and-ten before she'd sent him to that place. He had not been eight-and-twenty before that laughter died.</em> “What boy?” she wondered. She had no children. <em>A son, born in a midwinter gale, born with eyes of fire, born screaming as if to tear the skies down.</em> And then she saw him. The Boy. “Oh, I know you,” something whispered. “It's been so long.” <em>My boy,</em> her blood snarled, protective. <em>Mine. My son. None will harm my boy while I yet breathe. </em></p><p>“There you are,” her mouth said. The boy-who-was-who-was-not-a-boy turned and smiled at her politely. It felt wrong almost in a way Helen couldn't place.</p><p>“You were looking for me?” he said, bemused. <em>Yes, fy mab, how could I not? </em></p><p>Helen shook the strange feeling off. “I assume you've seen your son's... artwork?”</p><p>The man smiled and rolled up his sleeves. “I think I know why George did that,” he said, showing her the tattoos curling over his pale skin. A skeleton key on his right forearm, a jewelled knife surrounded by flowers on his left. (Purple hyacinth for regret, irises for hope and trust. Bastian liked knowing those sorts of things.) Four little gold rings glinted in each ear. This man was certainly... an interesting character, to be sure. Though he already seemed to be a better parent than some of the others she'd dealt with.</p><p>“I'm Helen Greer, I'm the school nurse here.”</p><p>“Nathan Hunison,” the man said, reaching out to shake her hand. <em>Hunison? No, <strong>Hunith's</strong> <strong>son</strong>. Oh.</em> It crashed over her like a wave. Nat- <em>Merlin</em> blinked at her, startled, and then said, “mother?” in a very small voice. <em>Merlin, my son, my darling boy, how could I ever have forgotten you? </em></p><p>“Oh, fy nig draig fach,” she whispered, and pulled him into a hug. A strangled noise escaped from his throat and his hands shook as he buried his face in her shoulder. “Mae gen i chi, mae'n iawn nawr, yn annwyl un.”</p><p>“Mam,” Merlin gasped, breath hitching in that way he did when he was trying not to cry. “Mam, fe'ch collais gymaint.”</p>
<hr/><p>Freya stopped in her tracks, gaping. Elena ran her fingers through her newly short hair and followed her friend's gaze to see a tattooed bloke talking to Mrs. Greer. “Something wrong, Frey?”</p><p>“Do you really not see the absolute dilf standing in front of us?”</p><p>“Freya, he's gotta be in his thirties. And he's very much a man, so my gay ass is not interested.”</p><p>Freya cocked her head, squinting a little. “He looks a bit familiar, doesn't he?”</p><p>Elena considered him, biting her lip ring as she mulled it over. <em>Something about... horses... and she was supposed to get married, wasn't she? And a boy with silly ears wearing a red scarf. </em>“Maybe a little, yeah.” The bell rang and Freya grabbed her hand, running with her blue-tipped dark hair flying behind her as she shouted that they were going to be late for class. Elena forgot all about the boy with a red scarf as she tried not to blush at her best friend holding her hand. <em>She had hated wearing heels and having to act like a “proper lady”, royalty be damned.</em> Elena only realized she'd forgot to ask for her sports jacket back three hours later at the start of gym. (It just looked so nice on Freya. And Freya got cold easy. It had nothing to do with Elena enjoying the picture of Freya wearing <em>her</em> jacket, <em>honest</em>.)</p>
<hr/><p>Hunith Galensdaughter had been the only living descendant of the “lost” dragonlord line of Aurelius. Just because her great-grandfather had had no sons did not mean the magic in her blood died. She might never call dragons from the skies, but she was as fiercely protective of her son as any dragon over her brood. </p><p>Helen Greer had always wondered why she felt like she was missing something. Meeting Bastian had taken the edges off that feeling, but it had never left her. Now she knew why, and it felt like coming home and going to a funeral all at once. </p><p>"Oh, fy mab, fy nghred, bu mor hir."</p>
<hr/><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Welsh is translated as follows: </p><p>fy mab - my son<br/>fy nig draig fach - my little dragon<br/>mae gen i chi, mae'n iawn nawr, yn annwyl un - I've got you, it's alright now, dear one<br/>mam, mam, fe'ch collais gymaint - mother, mother, I missed you so much<br/>fy mab, fy nghred, bu mor hir - my son, my darling, it has been so long</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Call Forth the Chosen One, Queen by Fear and Fable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some Morgana/Vivian for you guys. tw for gore, patricide and mental instability</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<hr/><p>Morgan Fray didn't technically work at the school. Her older sister Miriam was the headmistress, and Morgan liked hanging about her office and bugging her into helping with uni papers. The fact that the third year maths teacher was absolutely stunning had nothing to do with it. The woman's name was Vivian Tulane and she could be a bit rude sometimes, but she was a wonderful teacher and loved all the kids. (No, she didn't have a thing for girls who could insult her six ways to Sunday, shut up Miri.) Vivian Tulane was stunningly beautiful, and brilliant, and a bit familiar. <em>She'd been jealous of Arthur, for getting to kiss Princess Vivian. She'd broken the love spell years later, when their lips finally met, though Morgana's madness and Vivian's shattered mind had made their union a bit vicious. She had loved her, still. In whatever way she could. Some things were universal constants, after all.</em></p><hr/><p>“H-hey, Viv,” Morgan squeaked, blushing furiously. Vivian turned, quirking one sculpted brow.</p><p>“Hello, Morgan! Do you need more help with your calculus?” (She hadn't actually needed help with it, but it'd been a nice excuse.)</p><p>“Oh, um, not right now. I was wondering, actually...” <em>Blood smeared on both their cheeks, put there by bloodied hands. They looked at the cooling corpse of Vivian's father and kissed, euphoric.</em> “Coffee!” she blurted out, feeling ridiculous. “I mean, do you want to? With me? Get coffee?” </p><p>“I'd love to!” Vivian said, eyes lighting up. <em>Those beautiful eyes had lit up at the prospect of violence, once. Vivian, daughter of Olaf had looked utterly radiant swinging a battle-axe into Sarrum's chest, screaming curses on his soul in her mother tongue. </em></p><p>“The cafe, on seventh? During your lunch break? If you want, we can do it later too.”</p><p>Vivian grinned, “it's a date, then!” <em>The Lady le Fay had laid waste to the kingdom of Amata, Olaf's daughter behind her, laughing wildly and dancing before the flames. Their love had been a hungry, twisted thing. That did not mean it wasn't love, in it's own way, horrifying as it may have been for everyone else that love touched.</em></p><hr/><p>The kiss tasted like chocolate <em>the kiss tasted like iron</em> and whipped cream <em>and death</em> and Vivian smiled <em>and Vivian smiled</em>. “I feel like,” Vivian mused, tracing Morgan's mouth with her thumb, “I've met you somewhere before. Do you ever get that feeling?”</p><p>Morgan nodded, green eyes tinged gold in the light from the cafe window, “like déjà vu, or a past life.”</p><p>Vivian giggled, “I walked with you once upon a dream.”</p><p>Morgana gasped, mock-offended. “Don't you start quoting <em>Disney</em> at me, Miss Tulane!”</p><p>“I had a dream I was a princess once.” <em>You were in my dream,</em> she did not say.</p><p>“Really? What was it like?”</p><p>“I wore silk and was fantastically gay.” <em>There was blood and fire and magic and I loved you and we killed my father and tore an entire kingdom apart and made love on the ashes.</em></p><p>“So, like always?”</p><p>“Oi!”<em> Your crimes may be many, my dear, but my love is deep indeed. </em></p><hr/><p>Morgan woke from a dream of Vivian in a green silk dress, burying an axe in a man's head. Miriam had been there, too, in a jewelled red gown, smirking with eyes of amber, fire wreathing her hands. Morgan had looked in a mirror in the dream and hadn't recognized herself. Morgan shivered, wrapping her duvet around her shoulders. “Aithusa?” she called, and the fluffy white cat came running. Her cat tucked her three legs in and curled up next to her mistress, concern in those big blue eyes. <em>Aithusa had been a dragon in her dream.</em> Morgan smiled, scratching the kitty behind her lopsided ears. “You're not really a dragon, are you, kitten. It was just a dream. Just a dream.”</p><p>Aithusa coughed smoke and whispered in a raspy voice, “I don't think it was a dream, milady.” Morgan screamed. A vase on her bedside table shattered, her eyes filling with bright gold. </p><hr/>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Twisting Fates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Several other mythic people show up</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>someone is indirectly accused of pedophilia and seeking an underage prostitute so tw for that being implied (it's a false accusation but I'm giving a heads up just to be safe) </p><p>also apologies on this taking forever</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<hr/><p>Merlin wakes to the sound of glass breaking, rain drumming on the roof. He flails, hands searching for a gun that isn't there. It takes a few moments to remind himself that he's not a soldier anymore. (That war has been over for nearly 75 years, it shouldn't still affect him. Then again, he can't go to tourney reenactments because the clash of swords makes him feel sick with a formless terror.) Merlin creeps down the stairs in the dark, a magelight hovering in his palm. “George? That you?” he calls, flicking the kitchen light on. The boy standing in his kitchen is... definitely not George. The boy standing in his kitchen is filthy and skinny and sopping wet with dark curls trickling water into pale grey-blue eyes and he's wearing three shirts clumsily mended with the wrong color thread. The boy in his kitchen is struggling to hold onto a massive cat as big as his torso. The boy in his kitchen is <em>like Merlin</em>. He can sense the fledgling magic in the boy's veins.</p><hr/><p>The boy speaks without moving his mouth, a frantic voice in his head with a distinctly Orkney slant to it. <em>Please don't hurt me! I'll leave, I promise! </em></p><p><em>Easy now,</em> Merlin sends back, bringing his arms up in a soothing gesture. <em>I'm not going to hurt you. Why don't you sit down and we can talk for a bit? </em></p><p>
  <em>You can... hear me? </em>
</p><p>Merlin smiles, “of course I can. What'd you think that was?” The boy half-falls into a chair, shifting the cat onto his lap.</p><p>
  <em>I broke your window. M'sorry. </em>
</p><p><em>That's easily fixed, look. </em>Merlin flicks his wrist, “gestrice,” and the broken glass rights itself, whole once more. The boy stares like Merlin's just disregarded gravity and decided to stand on the ceiling—which is ridiculous, because doing that always gives him awful migraines, so he generally doesn't. <em>I'm Nathan. You? </em></p><p>
  <em>M- Morys ap Cadfael, sir. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That is a very Welsh name, Morys. </em>
</p><p>Morys shrugs, wincing. <em>My parents were... traditional sorts, sir.</em> <em>And Da was <b>very</b> Welsh.</em></p><p>
  <em>Are these traditionalists the reason you're breaking into my kitchen? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My parents are dead, sir. </em>
</p><p>Merlin frowns slightly. <em>I'm very sorry for your loss, Morys. How old are you?</em></p><p>Morys squints at him suspiciously. <em>Fifteen, sir? Why? </em></p><p>
  <em>Do you have anywhere to stay? </em>
</p><p>“Now, 'ang on!” Morys yells, scrabbling out of the chair while struggling to keep hold of his cat at the same time. “I'm no' that sort... sort o' person! An' I won' be takin' no money for 'at neither! No' happening, you prick!” </p><p>Merlin blinks, confused, before it hits him. Oh. He's being accused of... <em>that</em>. “Mr. ap Cadfael. I am not trying to hurt you, and I have absolutely zero interest in what you just implied. I am asking because it is <em>sleeting</em> outside, and there's more than enough space for you in this house.”</p><p>Morys has the presence of mind to look guilty, though he's still bristling a little. “Oh. Well, awright. But I've got mates, so I'll no' be doin' it.”</p><p>Merlin arches one brow, smiling a little (he'd learned that expression from <em>someone</em>, hadn't he?). “I could make any number of rooms, you know. Magic, an' all.”</p><p>Morys sighs, “fine. I'll be righ' back then.”</p><p>
  <em>Use the door this time, yeah?</em>
</p><p>Morys flips him the bird and goes out the window just to be a contrary little shit. Merlin likes the kid already.</p><hr/><p>“I like himself, Gaius. He's a likeable boy. But I can't ignore what I saw.” He no longer remembers what he supposedly saw, or who Gaius is. (He tells himself it doesn't hurt. This is a lie.)</p><hr/><p>Morys comes back carrying a very bossy towheaded nine year old named Archie, another boy (Declan, age sixteen, green eyes and brown hair and, if Merlin's reading it right, utterly besotted with Morys) limping behind him. Archie manages to insult all of them seven times within the first three minutes of his acquaintance with Merlin. It's kind of funny, especially as the little lad says all of this in the best imitation of Queen's English Merlin's ever heard aside from the Queen herself. (She is not his queen, and never will be. She's not even bloody related to Arthur or Gwen; they had no children.)</p><hr/><p>He's bloody well <em>keeping</em> these little miscreants. George said he wanted a brother, anyway. Now he's got three.</p><hr/>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The "Queen's English" Merlin is talking about is Heightened Received Pronunciation, and it is the accent the Queen uses, though her accent has apparently mellowed some over the years.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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